Across America in the Ford Focus ST

It's one of TG magazine's greatest ever adventures: coast to coast across the US in the hot Ford. In five days...

Gone
midnight, somewhere near Pikes Peak, Webb searched his satnav for the nearest
accommodation. It pointed us to a motel a few miles away, swiftly directing us
off the road and onto a dirt lane. The track got worse. And worse. For 20
minutes we bounced up steep slopes, ominous paths leading off left and right,
zigzagging ever deeper into the woods, satnav jumping helplessly from one track
to another, unable to lock onto our location.

Somehow we stumbled upon the
motel, a great, Gothic-fronted mansion undoubtedly containing murderers and
ghosts. It was closed, apparently uninhabited for years. A rusting ute sat in
front, its doors open, abandoned. “Want to go in and check if they’ve got any
vacancies?” I asked, hesitantly. Webb shook his head. Death lay in that motel.

A
rustle. Out of a clump of trees leered a ghoulish, lank-haired man, bellowing incomprehensibly and shaking his fists.
We both leapt in our bucket seats. “What do
I do?” I squeaked at Webb.